


Decades

by lavvyan



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Episode Tag, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 04:51:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16151975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavvyan/pseuds/lavvyan
Summary: Just because Steve isn't broken, doesn't mean Danny can't try to fix him all the same.After the events of 9.01, Danny takes Steve home.





	Decades

**Author's Note:**

> If this episode doesn't a) spawn at least two new fandom-specific tropes about the things Steve volunteers for and how Danny frets about them, and b) cause the fifty-years line to show up _everywhere,_ I'll be very disappointed. 
> 
> Anyway. This story hasn't been beta-read, concrit is welcome.

Steve is quiet when they step off the ship. He takes a deep breath and holds it like he's trying to savor the unholy combination of salt and diesel and lingering gunsmoke. Danny pulls Steve's spare clothes from the trunk of his car and Steve rolls his eyes, but he does change out of that eyesore of a rubber suit and into his jeans and t-shirt. 

He doesn't protest when Danny takes him home. Danny's home, that is. Steve doesn't claim he's fine, doesn't say that Greer should be priority, doesn't try to divert them to the McGarrett house instead. Just sits, silent, staring out the window at the lightening sky. 

"Gonna be a nice sunrise," Danny offers. 

Steve nods and says nothing. 

Danny swallows a sigh and turns the A/C on low, figuring a slight breeze in Steve's face can't hurt. 

Six hours of complete sensory deprivation. Never let it be said that Steve does anything the easy way. 

The sun is up by the time they reach Danny's house, but unless the CIA comes calling with new intel, Danny's giving them both the day off. He lets his hand rest lightly on Steve's elbow on the way inside, uses it to guide Steve to one of the kitchen chairs. Steve sits down, face pale, dark circles under his eyes. He looks older than Danny's ever seen him. 

"I'll be right back," Danny tells him. Steve nods again, gaze straying to the kitchen window and the view beyond. _Sight,_ Danny thinks, rubbing his knuckles over the ache in his chest as he walks into the bathroom. _Sound,_ as he grabs the portable little radio from its place at the sink, _touch and scent_ as he pulls the mostly-full bottle of massage oil from the cabinet. The hand towel is almost an afterthought, but he's gonna need it later. 

He sets the radio on the kitchen table, turns it on, finds the station that plays Steve's terrible 70s mood music and lets it run quietly as he steps behind Steve's chair. He plucks at Steve's black t-shirt. 

"Can you take this off?"

Steve sighs. "I'm not broken, Danny."

"I know." Danny plucks at the t-shirt again. " _Please_ take this off? Can you do that for me? Huh?"

Another sigh, but Steve complies. A large bruise is starting to come in across his shoulder blades, still faint, much like the one around his throat. Both would probably be worse if that ridiculous rubber suit had been a little less thick. Danny grimaces, lets Steve drop the t-shirt on the kitchen table as he reaches for the bottle, pours some oil into his hand, sets the bottle down again next to the towel. 

The oil warms quickly as he rubs his palms together, the aroma of sandalwood and a hint of cinnamon rising into the air. The scent is earthy, spicy, subtle enough that it doesn't immediately fill the room, which is one of the reasons Danny bought that oil in the first place. 

So he likes to indulge in nice things every once in a while. Sue him.

Steve twitches at the first touch of Danny's hand on his back, tense and silent as Danny starts to brush the oil across his skin. Danny moves carefully, avoids putting pressure on the bruise, keeps his touch light even where the skin is undamaged. Tries to make simple sensation say what he couldn't begin to put into words. 

'Feel this,' he wants to say, almost nonsensically because he doesn't even know what he means by _this_ and of course Steve is feeling Danny's hands on him. 

"I know you're not broken," he murmurs instead, and Steve finally relaxes a little, lets his shoulders slump at the truth in Danny's words. 

Because what Steve went through tonight was terrible, but Danny knows it's not enough to break him. Not even close. Steve suffered loss at a young age, put himself through Hell Week and who knows how many missions, went through torture and more loss and an amount of physical damage that is, frankly, ludicrous. If there's anything Steve has in spades, it's endurance. 

But one of these days, Danny hopes, Steve might realize that just because he _can_ endure something, doesn't mean he has to. 

Because Danny worries, okay? It's his thing; it's what he does when he loves someone. He won't lie: there was a moment tonight when he wasn't sure this wouldn't be like the aftermath of Wo Fat all over again. Steve hadn't been broken then, either, but he'd been confused and in pain and anyway, 'unbroken' is nowhere near the same as 'undamaged.'

He lets his touch grow firmer, presses his thumbs into Steve's muscles deep enough to work out some of the stress and tension, if not enough to hurt. Steve grunts, lets his head hang loosely as Danny carefully rubs along the back of his neck, then down again, trailing his fingers over the bumps of Steve's spine. 

Just because Steve isn't broken, doesn't mean Danny can't try to fix him all the same. And if anyone can use a little pampering every now and then, not that Danny will ever admit to it... 

"I didn't mean it in a bad way," Steve says suddenly. His voice is still hoarse, an odd counterpoint to the soft crooning from the radio. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Danny smooths his palms across the muscles of Steve's back, as far down as he can reach without pushing Steve off the chair. 

"Fifty years. I wasn't being sarcastic."

Yeah, right. Danny moves up again, mouth twisting, still mindful of the bruise. "Uh huh."

"I meant..." Steve lets out a frustrated huff of air. "Danny, stop. Stop for a moment, okay?"

Danny stills, his hands just below Steve's shoulders. 

"Listen," Steve says, and then hesitates before he adds, "I love you, okay? It feels like you've known me forever." Danny can't see his face, but he swears he can hear Steve search for words. "You're under my skin. And I wouldn't... I _couldn't_..."

Steve breaks off and rubs a hand across his face. 

"Dammit," he mutters.

For a moment, Danny just stands there, staring blindly at the bowed head before him. Then, mechanically, almost on autopilot, he reaches for the towel, rubs the oil off his hands. He feels gobsmacked, numb, like he's the one who got his brain scrubbed. He sets the towel aside, his thoughts stuck on the way Steve reached for him to be helped out of that awful pool; no hesitation, no fear, just... faith. 

'Feels like fifty years,' Steve said, and Danny thought he meant that time spent with Danny was interminable. A chore to be borne with patience, if not grace. 

Danny's an idiot. 

He steps around the chair, steps into Steve's line of sight. Makes Steve tilt his head up with a light touch to his chin and places his hands on the sides of Steve's face, careful of the scrapes and bruises. The skin is cool under his touch, still too pale, stubble tickling his palms. 

Steve watches him, eyes dark and huge the way they always get when Steve's this open. Danny hates it, prefers Steve with his barriers up. Hates how often he's the one who tears them down in the first place. 

What a messed-up pair they are. 

He leans in slowly, gives Steve ample time to pull away. Steve doesn't. Steve licks his lips, a flicker of tongue that makes Danny shiver, and closes his eyes when Danny's breath puffs against his mouth. The sound he makes when Danny kisses him is half pain, half relief. Danny closes his own eyes and allows himself to simply feel for a moment. 

Steve's lower lip is hot and swollen on one side. Danny keeps the kiss gentle, pulls back slightly when Steve tries to push into it. He opens his mouth instead, apology and invitation, sighs when Steve licks into it. _That's taste,_ he thinks stupidly as Steve explores his mouth, slow and careful for once, and it is, it's Steve's taste on his tongue, warm and utterly amazing. 

They're both breathless when they pull apart, though Danny knows it's not from lack of air. Steve's cheeks have pinked up, and he looks at Danny like Danny's... like this is something he's been craving without knowing it. 

"Yeah?" Danny asks, the urge to laugh rising up inside him not unlike hysteria, and he isn't sure what he's asking but,

"Yeah," Steve breathes, voice rough but sure, that raw vulnerability gone from his eyes in favor of something softer, something more bearable for Danny to see. "Yeah, Danny. Yes."

_Fifty years,_ Danny thinks as he leans forward again to kiss Steve's beginning smile. _A hundred._

He can't wait.


End file.
